These hearts they don't stop beating
by jennygiraffadil
Summary: Harry and Draco have an arrangement and so long as no romance is involved, they can keep it up. But then things get complicated.


**Title:** These hearts; they don't stop beating.  
**Pairings:** Harry/Draco and Remus/Sirius implied Ron/Harry.  
**Disclaimer:** I wish.  
**Summary:** Harry and Draco have an arrangement and so long as "no romance" is involved, they can keep it up. But when realises he wouldn't mind it things get awkward and he goes to Sirius for advice; only instead of advice he finds out a few home truths. Like why Remus never goes home after Order meetings and why Sirius's bedroom door is always locked after ten pm.   
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They waited until their friends were tucked snugly into dreams and pillows before they snuck away; tiptoeing the wrong ways in the wrong corridors and ending up in a tussle of arms and hips and lips and it was okay. It was mostly okay.

"No romance –" Draco hissed, burying his face into the crook of Harry's neck where a thick roll of sweat trickled from the tip of his ear and he grunted heavily.

He was pushed sharply against the wall then, forcefully,behind the old prefect bathrooms where nobody ever noticed anymore and he arched his back. Fingerprints pressed against his jaw and his cheeks. Creasing lines just below his eyes.

"No romance," Harry agreed and it was familiar and it was aching and it was desperate and oh so perfect. Nails scratched and teeth bared and slurring words of anger and loathing passed between the smashing of gums.

"No romance," he repeated again as his hips jutted against Draco's in small bursts until his chest rose so heavily and collapsed into a fit of pounding gasps inside his head.

They skipped over the pleasantries. The plans, the details, the explanations. They cast heated glares across the room as the door slammed shut and in the dark, Harry realised, it always hurt more knowing he'd got exactly what he'd wanted.

--

It was two weeks before they met again, next to a broom closet on the fourth floor, and his eyes were heavy. Draco glanced around before placing his hands firmly against Harry's thighs and found it difficult to control his seething when he was pushed away.

"_Not here_," Harry whispered, right up against the edge of his ear, and his teeth pressed so hard against one another he almost felt his composure break into loose jeers and low stabs.

He didn't say anything but his mouth was cut into a firm, thin line and he didn't look back once as he turned and stalked down the corridor. 

It was later that night that Draco kissed Pansy for the first time. And Harry found he couldn't sleep.

--

"It's your own fault," Draco sneered, after Gryffindor ceremoniously lost their first Quidditch match of the season, "I was fine with it, I was more than okay with not even mentioning it and you bring it all on yourself by not even saying a word."

Harry was sitting on the deserted bench in the locker room and the smooth wood chaffed softly against his bare thighs. His head hung down low and, for what it was worth, he looked utterly miserable.

Draco shoved against his shoulder harshly when he didn't seem to respond and his eyes narrowed to thin slits before a smirk caught the corner of his lips.

"You know," he murmured, glancing around before placing his hands on Harry's shoulders and tracing the nudges of bone down to the base of his spine, "We could forget all about it," and his mouth barely touched the top of his head; "We could forget this even happened and just go back to how it was."

But his fingers stilled and arched and his nails dug in barely when Harry muttered "No romance," lowly in the back of his throat. He glanced up, and Draco tried to pass his gaze against his cheek instead. But the unwavering eyes and the firm grip made him tighten his hands around him before backing away slowly.

"You're pathetic, _Potter_," he growled, kicking the bin sitting in front of the lockers and turning out weeks of useless waste. He pushed a stack of papers off the precariously balanced table in a fit of rage as he headed towards the door with one last look; "You really are _fucking pathetic_."

--

"Is something wrong?" Sirius asked when he returned to Grimmauld place at Christmas. He looked older than Harry remembered; his eyes just as hollow and empty but he was smiling.

They were sitting at the kitchen table. _Harry_ had been sitting at the kitchen table, falling in on himself and tearing apart bits and pieces to try and make himself more clockwork so it all made sense inside his head. 

His elbows rested against the thickly stained wood and his hair looked more dishevelled than a bad night's sleep could do. 

Sirius held a bare two o'clock shadow along his jaw and the hours followed it as they sat trying to make conversation.

"I've been sleeping with someone," he blurted suddenly and Sirius, instead of looking shocked or even mildly surprised, just grinned. 

"I've been sleeping with someone," he stuttered, looking down at dawn inching across the floor, "And they're not – exactly --" he paused and bit his lip, trying to think of a better way to say it that wouldn't get him as flustered and red faced. 

"I've been sleeping with someone who isn't exactly a girl."

And he looked almost insulted as Sirius threw his head back and laughed. His chair swung backwards on two legs and his hair struck against his jaw.

"Sirius?" Harry questioned timidly, his throat aching and his head aching and his eyes feeling dry and sore and somewhere near not his own.

Sirius stilled at that and he looked like he almost didn't know how to reply. 

"It doesn't surprise me," he said softly, after a while, resting his hands palm down against the table and watching him carefully, "And it certainly doesn't shock me," he added, "Look, sex just has to be sex when you're sixteen, it doesn't have to mean anything. It should, but with everything you've been through I'm not going to tell you what I probably should. I'm telling you what's normal."

Harry just nodded.

And Sirius paused again.

"This isn't about it just being sex, though, is it?" he asked suddenly and his voice was steady and calm and as unimposing as he could make it without scaring either of them. He reached out and placed a hand on Harry's arm, "_You like him don't you?_"

"I don't—" Harry started, before swallowing past the bile rising up from his stomach, "I think – I can't but –"

"It's okay you know," Sirius interrupted, "It's really okay. It doesn't matter that it's a boy, it shouldn't matter who it is so long as you're happy with it."

"But we hate each other."

The clock sitting on the mantle in the other room echoed loudly and they could almost make out the echo of footsteps that would be ghosting around alongside them in less than a few minutes. Sirius hushed his voice and glanced at the door.

"Your mum and dad hated each other before they fell in love, doesn't mean anything."

"Anyway," he yawned, kicking back his chair as he stood up and stretched his shoulders his eyes never wavering, "The others will be up soon. Just – " he smiled, "Just go for it. It'll be amazing or something."

Harry noticed he was staring blankly at something just outside the entrance to the hall and his hands were wringing together, twitching, and he was grinning. He patted Harry on the back heartily before walking in that direction and as Harry followed a few moments later with his curiosity in tow he found out exactly why Sirius was so wise about love.

Watching Sirius's arms as they slid firmly around Remus before he pressed a kiss to his waiting lips, he smiled, the kind that said he wouldn't care if the world ended right then and it all made perfect sense.

He knew about it because he was in it. And obviously had been for a very long time.

Harry kept himself hidden as they headed together, quietly, up the stairs with mischevious grins and, left standing alone in the hall, he wondered.

He wondered if maybe they'd started off with "no romance" too.

--  
"We had a deal Potter," Draco spat out when Harry had approached him after the holidays, cornered just outside the bathroom on the second floor; "We had an arrangement;" he snapped and Harry stilled, "And you – you broke it off. What do you think I am? I'm not a filthy little _mudblood_ like your _friends_, willing to do anything for the big war hero. You had your chance."

It wasn't until he'd disappeared around the edge of the corridor that Harry realised he hadn't been paying attention to a single word he'd said.

--

"What's the difference between love and lust?" Harry asked that night, thrown up against the edge of the couch in the common room with Ron sitting sulkily by his side. They were both staring idly at the soft static of the fire, shaking with the stars spilling through the window.

He didn't turn to look at him and he didn't really expect an answer but he stayed silent, just in case.

It wasn't until a knee brushed his own and a thick voice fell over them that he even remembered someone else was there.

"Love hurts," Ron muttered, staring into the bags under his eyes before pushing himself up off the couch and sighing as he dragged himself up into the dormitory and locked the door.

--

_Dear Sirius,_

How do you know when you're in love?

Harry. 

--

It wasn't until he was laid in bed, almost a month later, with a mop of blonde hair knotting against the pillow with his own that he got a reply. 

_You'll do anything to get them.  
And anything to make them love you back._

Remus. 


End file.
